Sometimes I’m just like Chicken Little, the annoying little chicken who ran around saying, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
Watch the first few seconds, and you’ll understand.
I tend to expect the worst. A phone call from an unknown number might mean a family member’s gone to jail. An official-looking envelope could be alerting us we’re the victims of identify theft.
You just never know.
The other day our son Thomas said, “Bye, I’m going to Brittany’s.”
An hour later Brittany, his girlfriend, called–crying so hard she couldn’t talk. My heart flip-flopped.”Brittany? Honey? What’s the matter?”
No words. Only muffled sounds.
I chewed my lip and paced the den. “What is it? Say something. Are y’all okay?”
“Miss Julie, Thomas wanted me to call you…”
Why can’t he can’t talk? I assembled the clues and came up with the most likely scenario. There’s been a wreck. The ambulance is probably on the way.
The sky is falling!
Then I realized Brittany wasn’t crying.
She was laughing. “Thomas says to tell you we’re coming over. He’s rescued a rooster.”
I imagined my son’s midsection bleeding from wrestling a wild chicken. “Did it spur him? Roosters can be–”
“Oh, no ma’am. He’s fine. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Here’s the rescue squad. We welcomed Ernie, a fine-looking Rhode Island Red, to his new home.
The truth is, I have received heart-stopping phone calls from my teenagers (middle of the night calls are the worst!), and discovered scary letters in the mailbox, and a couple of family members have done jail time.
But Chicken Little was wrong that day. The sky wasn’t falling.
So early this morning, as Ernie crowed, I resolved to change.
Whatever comes my way, I’m going to smile, expecting only the best.
Julie–Chicken Little no more!